


The Incomprehensible

by DarkestSight (Daylight)



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, More angst, RipFic, Timeship Week 2017, even more angst, lots and lots of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-01-08 11:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12253044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daylight/pseuds/DarkestSight
Summary: With Gideon’s help, Rip tries to come to terms with the incomprehensible. (Pre-Series)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Deals with cannon character deaths

Rip wasn’t there when Jonas was born.

He had meant to be. He had arranged to take a few months off from the Time Masters beginning two weeks before Miranda’s due date so he could be around to help her out and meet his son, but as often occured with him, things didn’t quite go as planned. 

He was a week late, his latest mission having been a tad more complicated than he had anticipated and requiring a lot of finessing to ensure the time stream remained on track.

Jonas, showing an enthusiasm he would retain throughout his short life, was a week early.

Rip arrived at the flat he shared with his wife only to have a neighbour tell him Miranda had left for the hospital hours before. With a mixture of anticipation and panic, he raced there as fast as he could. He had actually been hoping for Jonas to be born on the Waverider under Gideon’s watchful eye. Miranda, as much as she loved Gideon, hadn’t been so sure about that but he had still believed he would be able to convince her.

Another plan down the drain.

He burst breathlessly into the hospital and was quickly guided to his wife by an understanding nurse. In a small sterile room, he found Miranda lying in bed and looking completely worn out. Her face was flushed, her hair a mess, and in her arms was their newborn son.

A stream of apologies spewed from his mouth but Miranda simply grinned and nodded her head towards the baby.

“Meet Jonas Alexander Hunter,” she said.

Alexander for the father Miranda barely remembered. Jonas for the best friend who had saved Rip’s life so many times.

For a moment, Rip was unable to do anything more than stare.

Miranda laughed at him. “Go on then.”

Nervously, Rip reached down and picked up his son.

Jonas was so tiny and felt so fragile in Rip’s arms. As he watched, the baby blinked and gazed around with unfocused eyes, his body squirming, his tiny fingers curling and uncurling, before he settled down once more. 

He was beautiful.

And Rip was absolutely terrified. He didn’t even remember his own father. How was he supposed to be one? How was he supposed to ensure this tiny baby grew up safe and happy while at the same time protecting the time stream? Would he be able to be there when his son needed him? 

He was so full of doubts but he was also completely and hopelessly in love.

Rip smiled down at his son, his eyes shining with tears.

Miranda put her hand on his arm and their eyes met in that one perfect moment.

A distant explosion, a rumble through the ground accompanied by a shockwave through the air.

Rip blinked and instinctively clutched the bodies in his arms closer to him. The ground was cold and his legs had grown numb from kneeling on it for so long. There was another explosion further away and the whine of laserfire. He gazed down. It was dark but the fires that sprouted from the debris surrounding them lit the night allowing him to see his son. 

Jonas’ eyes were closed as if in peaceful sleep. Rip had always loved to watch Jonas sleep. He’d read him stories at bedtime and then stay there long after Jonas had fallen asleep just watching. Leaning forward, Rip kissed his forehead. Too cold. He wished he had brought his coat so he could wrap it around him but he had left it behind on the Waverider. He moved so he could hold Jonas even tighter hopping to imbue some of the heat from his own body.

As he shifted position, he felt Miranda’s head loll slightly against him and he held her tighter too. Her long dark hair tumbled over her shoulders in a tangled mess. He loved it when her hair was a mess, when long strands fell out of her neatly tied bun or when she had left it down and the locks flew everywhere. To him, it made her look even more beautiful. With one hand, Rip gently stroked her forehead and down the length of her hair. Miranda had never really understood why he loved it so much but she always made an effort to leave her hair down when he was around.

_“Captain Hunter.”_

Quietly and haltingly, Rip began to sing. His throat felt tight and raw but he did it anyway, his hoarse voice barely audible even to his own ears.

“If I... could save time in a bottle, the first thing... that I’d like to do.” A choked sob interrupted his singing, but after sniffing and clearing his throat, he continued. “...is to... is to save every day ‘til eternity passes away just to... to spend them with you...”

_“Captain Hunter!”_

The song was a family joke that had become a family tradition, something he had started singing teasingly to Miranda and then ended up being demanded by Jonas every time he came home. Rip’s voice became hoarser and hoarser but he continued singing, his body rocking slightly back and forth until his voice finally gave out completely and he just sat there, tears silently trailing down his cheeks.

_“Captain!”_

Rip blinked, head lifting as he finally registered the voice shouting in his ear.

“Gideon?”

_“Yes, Captain_ ,” said the A.I. through his comlink, relief obvious in her voice. _“I have been trying to reach you. Sensors indicate an increase in activity in your area. Have you found Miranda and Jonas?”_

Rip stared down at the bodies in his arms trying not to see the blaster burns on their chests. “Yes, I have them. They’re...” He swallowed. “I need to get them back to the ship.”

There was a pause before Gideon spoke again. _“Captain, I am not reading any life signs in your vicinity other than your own.”_

“I have to get them back to the ship,” Rip repeated, insistently, knuckles growing white as he clutched Miranda and Jonas even tighter.

Gideon’s voice was compassionate but firm. _“There are soldiers approaching your area and there are several ships nearby preparing for another bombing run. It is imperative you get back to the Waverider immediately!”_

Rip choked back a sob. “I can’t leave them.”

Blaster fire erupted not too far away and there were several screams, Savage’s soldiers clearing out the last few stragglers. 

_“Please, Captain!”_

Rip felt as if his heart was being torn to pieces. Unable to find the strength to move, he gazed back down at his wife and son, at the bodies of his wife and son wondering how this could have happened, how any of this could be real, desperately wishing he could wake up and find it had all been a nightmare.

More blaster fire erupted, even closer this time. Soon Rip could hear the tread of heavy boots growing nearer.

Suddenly, a streak of light lit up the night shooting across the debris strewn park where Rip was sitting but it wasn’t the flash from a soldier’s laser rifle. The blast was much too large and aimed towards the soldiers instead of originating from them. It was also very familiar.

Rip looked up to see the Waverider swooping down towards him, engines rumbling, laser cannons firing. It came to a stop nearby hovering only a dozen feet off the ground. Laser fire filled the air as the soldiers opened fire on the ship and Gideon returned the fire cutting them down.

_“Captain, please make your way towards the ship.”_

A surge of adrenaline shot through Rip as his instinct for survival finally kicked in. 

He had to get out of there.

The remains of his heart shattered though as he realized the horrific choice he would have to make. He could carry one member of his family but he couldn’t carry both. It didn’t take him long to decide which one. He knew what Miranda would have wanted.

Leaning forward, Rip placed a kiss on his wife’s cold lips. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

He took the ring from Miranda’s finger, and then gathering his son into his arms, stood up and ran towards the Waverider.

Laser fire flew all around him as the soldiers spotted him. Rip did his best to weave back and forth around the debris to present a less easy target but a glancing blast still managed to hit his leg. He stumbled and almost fell but he managed to regain his footing. He clutched his burden tighter to his chest and kept going.

He had almost reached the ship when an explosion behind him pushed him forward and he stumbled once more. It was so close and so loud it left his ears ringing. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw the place where he had been, where Miranda had been, was now nothing more than a large crater in the ground. 

With no time to process what had happened, Rip turned back around and continued running.

The Waverider had trouble setting down. With all the debris, there was little clear space for Gideon to land in. When the ship finally came down, it rested at a slight angle and the ramp wasn’t able to lower all the way stopping a foot from the ground.

More explosions peppered the earth around Rip as he made his last desperate dash. The bombers must have been alerted to the Waverider’s presence and were doing their best to destroy her. Rip knew the ship could handle a few blasts but it would not be able to hold up forever.

Reaching the ship, Rip leapt onto the ramp. The moment his feet touched down both the ship and the ramp began to rise. The combination of the ship’s movements and the forward momentum of his frantic flight sent Rip tumbling to the ground. He skidded down the ramp and across the cargo bay until his back hit the far wall, Jonas still cradled protectively in his arms.

The ramp door closed and the ship rose higher into the air.

“Gideon, temporal zone,” Rip said, breathlessly when able to find his voice.

Explosions and laser blasts continued to shake the Waverider as it flew upward and away from London. When it had reached high enough, it picked up speed, and with one final jolt, jumped into the temporal zone and safety.

Rip breathed out a sigh of relief.

The Waverider’s flight smoothed out as it drifted along the shifting energies of the temporal zone and the interior of the ship grew quiet.

Rip stayed lying on the floor listening to the distant rumble of the ship’s engines and the wheeze of his laboured breathing. His breathing along with his pounding heart began to calm as the adrenaline left him but as it did so, an empty feeling of despair rose up in his chest to take its place.

In the bright light of the Waverider’s cargo bay, Jonas’ lips were pale, his face impossibly white.

Rip reached out and brushed a hand across his son’s cheek.

Gideon’s soft voice broke the silence. “I am sorry, Captain.”

Rip didn’t reply, his eyes still fixed on his son.

“You should seek treatment in the medbay,” Gideon advised gently.

The medbay... A glimmer of hope arose in Rip. Was there a chance? he wondered.

The glimmer of hope became a raging inferno as adrenaline surged through Rip once more. He gathered his son in his arms and tried to stand up but immediately fell back onto his knees as a burning pain shot through his left leg. He had completely forgotten about the blaster wound. He managed to make it to his feet on his second attempt and limped as quickly as he could to the medbay. He placed Jonas on the bed nearest the door. 

“Gideon, run a scan.”

“Captain...” the A.I. began uncertainly.

“Just do it!” Rip yelled.

The blue light shone down over Jonas’ body as Gideon performed the scan.

“No life signs detected.”

Rip gazed over the scan results on the diagnostic screen, searching for something, anything. “What about brain activity?” 

“No brain activity detected.”

“There must be something you can do,” he said, desperately.

Sadness filled Gideon’s voice as she replied. “I’m sorry, Captain. I’m afraid he’s been dead too long.”

Rip glared up at the ceiling, fury in his eyes. “Then what good are you! You stupid, useless machine. This is my son. My son! You have saved my life countless times. How can you not save his?”

Gideon didn’t answer.

Rip paced furiously back and forth across the room. A small table covered in medical instruments sat in the corner of the room. Letting out a cry, he struck at it. The table fell with a crash, the instruments scattering across the floor. 

“He’s my son!” he yelled again. “My son! And he’s dead!” 

He stopped and let out a shaky breath, his face crumbling. 

“He’s dead and I wasn’t there to save him. I wasn’t there to save him. I wasn’t there...”

Rip collapsed onto the floor, sobbing and gasping as tears streamed down his face.

He lay there weeping for what felt like an eternity, time drifting by meaninglessly. Soothing words were offered by Gideon but they failed to reach him. 

Eventually, the sobbing stopped and the tears dried up. Rip lay curled on his side, cheek resting on the cold floor, body drained, mind numb.

“I’m sorry, Gideon,” he whispered, the croaking voice barely sounding like his own.

“I know,” Gideon replied, and then after a beat, added, “I loved them too.”

Fresh tears stung Rip’s eyes. “I know.”

He stayed lying there unmoving, feeling like he would never be able to move again. The world around him seemed distant and unreal.

After several moments of silence, Gideon spoke up once more. “Captain, it would be best to move to the bed. You have injuries which need treatment.”

Rip didn’t reply, just stared out across the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

“You have a blaster wound on your leg, multiple contusions on your back, and are becoming severely dehydrated. You are also suffering from extreme emotional shock. Please, get on the bed so you can be treated.”

Rip rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. He knew he should listen to Gideon but he seem to have no strength or willpower left with which to get off the floor, nor could he find it within himself to care.

“Please, Captain,” Gideon begged, “for me.”

Rip opened his eyes once more. 

“Please,” Gideon repeated.

Slowly, moving like a man three times his age, Rip turned onto his front and pushed himself up to his knees. Every movement seemed to take a ridiculous amount of effort and his limbs felt weak and shaky. He managed to get to his feet though his injured leg threatened to buckle beneath him once more. Trying not to think about anything but what he was attempting to do, he limped over to the bed and collapsed onto it. With his last remaining energy, he reached over and clipped the medical cuff to his wrist. 

“Thank you,” Gideon said with audible relief.

The blue light of the cellular regenerator shone down and a tingling sensation began in Rip’s leg as it began to heal. A heavy drowsiness also came over him.

His eyes widened as he realized what that meant. “Gideon?”

“I’m sorry, Captain,” the A.I. replied and her voice sounded truly regretful. “But I believe the sedation is necessary. You require rest.”

Rip wanted to argue but he was already starting to drift off. He turned his head so he could see Jonas. His too pale face was the last thing Rip saw before he closed his eyes and fell into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Rip sings is Time in a Bottle written by Jim Croce.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It only gets more painful. Sorry.

The flat in Whitechapel was always more Miranda’s than Rip’s, just like the Waverider was his though he called both home. 

Rip would have preferred for Jonas to have a house with a large garden like the one at the Refuge where both he and Miranda grew up but Miranda had wanted to be in the heart of London where such a thing was almost non-existent. Plus she held no desire to deal with the upkeep of a garden, and since he wouldn’t be around enough to take care of it himself, the decision was made and the flat bought. Rip tried to make it up to Jonas by taking him to the park as much as possible whenever he was there.

The flat wasn’t very big but it was light and airy with skylights in high ceilings letting the sun pour through. The walls were kept white, the wood furniture stained a natural shade, but Miranda added accents in soft pinks and yellows, and the occasional brilliant red, her favourite colours. There was little of Rip in the place except for a few books and some artifacts he had brought home with him, antiques which would have confused any collector by their apparent lack of age.

The only spot he had any real influence was the kitchen. Cooking was something he had always been more fond of than Miranda so he made sure the kitchen had all the necessary equipment and was kept well stocked with everything he would need to cook for his family. He loved to prepare breakfast in the early hours of the morning before anyone else was awake or put together dinner for his wife after a long day or bake treats for Jonas. As they savoured his food, he would always accuse them of only wanting him home so he could cook for them and Miranda would jokingly agree.

But one of Rip’s favourite things to do when home in Whitechapel, other than cooking and taking Jonas to the park that is, was to watch Miranda paint. 

Painting was something Miranda had taken up after leaving the Time Masters, the practice of the arts never being something they had encouraged at the academy, and she found she enjoyed it very much as well as having somewhat of a talent for it. She set up an easel in a corner of the living room beneath one of the skylights and would gravitate towards there the moment the sun hit the right angle.

Many a lazy afternoon Rip had spent lying on the sofa with a book in his hands while Miranda stood staring at her latest painting, her hair in a messy ponytail, paint staining her fingers as she made careful strokes with her brush. Jonas would usually be lying on the floor either copying his mother with crayons on scraps of paper or building things out of kits. Miranda once said she didn’t know what Jonas would be when he grew up, but whatever it was, she knew it would involve doing something with his hands.

Sometimes Jonas would ask Rip to read him a story and he would curl up beside him on the couch.

Sometimes Jonas would fall asleep and Rip would lie there with his son pressed against his side, dust motes dancing through the streams of sunshine, and the smell of paint in the air.

Until he too succumbed to sleep.

Rip knew something was wrong the moment he woke but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He felt terrible for a start. His body ached and his throat felt sore making him wonder if he was sick. The fact he was lying in his clothes on one of the beds in the medbay would seem to suggest that, but there was also a strange feeling of emptiness in his chest...

The memories washed over him like an arctic wave. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his hands into fists willing it to not be real as if the power of his mind could erase all that had happened. 

He knew what he would see if he opened his eyes. He knew and he didn’t want to see it. That would make it much more real. He could feel the presence though looming on the other side of his eyelids and finally, the urge to look, to know for sure was too much and he opened his eyes.

Jonas was still there lying on the other bed. A green light was shinning down on him and Rip realized Gideon had put him in stasis.

Of course, she had, a distant part of his mind told him. That was the logical thing to do. If she hadn’t, Jonas would have started to rot and smell and...

Rip was out of the bed before he even realized what he was doing.

“Captain?” Gideon called out in alarm.

Rip didn’t reply as he stumbled across the medbay towards the washroom hidden at the back. He just managed to fall to his knees in front of the toilet before he began throwing up. There wasn’t anything but bile in his stomach and it burned the back of his throat as it came out. When he was done, he collapsed, leaning against the wall across from the toilet, gasping and shaking.

“Captain, are you... are you alright?”

Rip opened his mouth intending to say he was fine, an automatic response, but he couldn’t even manage the words so he simply shook his head. Slumping further down against the wall, he stared blankly across at the toilet.

“Tell me this isn’t real,” he said, his quiet words echoing in the small room. “Gideon, please tell me this isn’t real, that what happened yesterday was all a nightmare, that that isn’t really Jonas lying out there in the medbay, that Miranda... Miranda wasn’t...” He swallowed hard.

“I wish I could,” Gideon replied, sorrowfully. “If doing so would unmake all that happened, believe me I would.

“They’re gone. They’re really gone.” Even as Rip said it, part of him still refused to believe it was true. It didn’t seem possible.

“I am afraid so,” Gideon said, softly.

Rip’s face scrunched up in confusion. “But I don’t... I don’t understand. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were supposed to be safe.” It had always been his life that existed on the edge of danger, never theirs. They were meant be safe.

“The mid-twenty second century is a tumultuous time,” Gideon pointed out.

Rip shook his head. “But not in England. The entire United Kingdom was meant to be a safe haven for decades. Druce said so.”

Time Master Druce had been Rip’s mentor since he was a young child and had been instrumental in helping Rip and Miranda find a place to settle down. Neither Rip nor Miranda were experts on the 22nd century. Rip had specialized in the 19th to 21st centuries. Miranda had been studying the 14th to the 16th. Time Masters specialized because there was too much history for any one to know, and with giant historical databases available to them, it was considered more practical to teach students only a quick overview of history while concentrating on essential skills such as temporal science, timeship mechanics, timeline infiltration and restoration, and various types of combat.

Druce had said the mid-twenty second century would be perfect for Rip and Miranda as they would be less tempted to interfere in history’s normal course if they did not know what was going to happen. He had assured them that despite discord in a number of other countries, England would still be safe. Rip couldn’t understand how Druce could have been so mistaken. It didn’t make any sense.

“Are you sure there are no signs of a time aberration?” He had asked the same question when they first arrived and found themselves flying into the middle of an all-out attack on London. Miranda’s last message had said things had changed but he hadn’t expected anything like this.

“I have run detailed comparisons of the events with what is recorded in the Time Master database and I’ve found no sign of any divergence,” said Gideon. “According to the database, Per Degaton rises to power in the Kasnia Conglomerate in 2153, releases the Armageddon virus greatly reducing the population, and begins a systematic conquest of the world but before he can complete his conquest he is killed by a man by the name of Vandal Savage.”

“Vandal Savage...” Rip muttered. He knew the name —it was impossible to listen to the news at home without hearing it mentioned at least once— but truthfully he knew very little about the man.

“Savage takes over from Per Degaton and continues the conquest in earnest until he has taken over the entire world. Billions of people are slaughtered.”

“My God.” Billions of people dead. The number was so large he couldn’t even get his head around it. How could something like this happen? How could he have not known about it before? He should have known, should have kept his family safe. “And this isn’t an aberration?”

“I am afraid not.”

“But...” Rip protested, his voice cracking.

His heart would have sunk if it was possible for it to go any lower. If this had been an aberration, he could have fixed it. He could have fixed all of this. The world wouldn’t be conquered by some despot dictator, those people wouldn’t die, and Miranda and Jonas would...

You could do it anyway, a voice whispered at the back of his mind. Go back in time, make things right, save your family.

Every part of his being rose up in an attempt to squash the voice. Manipulating time in such a way for your own personal gain went against everything he had ever been taught, everything he had ever believed in, everything he had ever fought for. There was no way to tell what the consequences might be from such actions. He could never do it.

Not even for Miranda and Jonas, the voice whispered.

Rip leaned forward and placed his head in his hands, fingernails digging into his scalp. Images from the previous day flashed through his mind, images of the destruction of London, of Miranda and Jonas cradled in his arms. His fingernails dug in even deeper.

When Rip hadn’t moved for several minutes, Gideon said, “Captain?

Rip didn’t reply. He didn’t think he could. Inertia had claimed him once more, stealing his ability and desire to move.

“Rip?”

The unexpected use of his first name was enough to make Rip drop his hands and cast his gaze up to the ceiling.

Gently, Gideon said, “Perhaps you should consider taking a shower.”

A shower? Rip’s forehead creased. Gazing down, he noticed detachedly that the clothes he had put on —when was it? a lifetime ago— were crumpled and streaked with dirt and ash. A smell also emanated from them, a mixture of sweat and smoke. 

Maybe a shower was a good idea, he thought.

The medbay washroom came equipped with a shower stall so Rip decided to make use of it. He got shakily to his feet and began mechanically stripping the clothes off his body a piece at a time, then dumping them on the floor. Thanks to Gideon, the water was already streaming down at the exact right temperature by the time he stepped into the stall. 

Rip stood beneath the water and leaned his hands against the wall in front of him, letting the water pour over him as steam rose filling the shower. His body felt heavy, his mind oddly blank. Everything around him seemed harshly vivid and yet strangely unreal at the same time.

“Captain?”

Realizing he had been standing there doing nothing for a long while, Rip blinked and shook himself. “’s ok, Gideon,” he reassured her, and reaching for a bottle of shampoo, began to wash his hair going through the motions on automatic.

When Jonas was a baby, he had loved being bathed and Rip had loved bathing him though he wasn’t always happy about the amount of water which drenched both the bathroom and himself during the process. Rip always tried to lend a hand with Jonas’ care whenever he was home, to give Miranda a break as well as spend more time with his son, so he got drenched in the bath, dealt with dirty diapers, put up with splatters of unwelcomed food, and did his best to resolve tantrums at bedtime, whatever needed doing, and he loved every minute of it. Not being the main parent, he occasionally got it wrong but both Miranda and Jonas were endlessly forgiving.

Jonas was a sweet child most of the time but he could be stubborn about doing things his own way and grew cranky when tired, both things for which Miranda blamed Rip much to his chagrin. 

Sometimes when it was time to leave, Jonas didn’t want his father to go and it would set off a tantrum filled with tears and yelling.

Sometimes Rip didn’t want to go either, tears in his own eyes as he left.

Time can slip by you even when you are a Time Master. Rip was always surprised by how much Jonas had grown each time he came home and he worried he wasn’t there enough, worried his son was growing up without a father like he had, but protecting the timeline had always seemed so important, so as soon as another mission came in, he was gone.

Was protecting the timeline more important than protecting his own family?

Jonas had loved being bathed, loved the water immensely, and Rip had wanted to be the one to teach him to swim. He had made Miranda promise he would be the one to teach him to swim. 

He never got the chance.

“Making yourself ill will not help matters,” said Gideon.

“Sorry, what?” Rip replied, distractedly.

He suddenly realized he was back in the medbay standing at the foot of the bed where Jonas lay staring down at him. The only thing he had on was a towel wrapped around his waist and drops of water were collecting on the floor. He didn’t even remember getting out of the shower.

“You should put some clothes on before you catch a cold,” Gideon explained.

Rip nodded, head jerking up and down. “Right, right.”

It was hard to tear his gaze away from Jonas but Rip managed and he stepped barefoot out into the rest of ship and through the corridors to his quarters. Once there, he found himself frozen once again standing in the middle of the room as he realized he didn’t have any clean clothes.

A sudden hysterical urge to laugh bubbled up in him.

He didn’t have any clean clothes because he hadn’t done laundry because he had been in too much of a hurry to get to London and start his holiday. This was supposed to be his holiday. Miranda was going to rent a cottage up in the Lake District. They were going to introduce Jonas to the wonders of the outdoors, hike through the countryside, maybe even try sailing. This was supposed to be their holiday, their first true holiday in three years, and Miranda and Jonas were...

Once again, Gideon’s voice broke him from his downward spiralling thoughts. “Your clothes, Captain?”

“Right,” Rip said, not realizing he was repeating himself.

Deciding it really didn’t matter if the clothes were dirty or not, he grabbed stuff at random and put them on.

“Good,” said Gideon, once he was done. “Now I would recommend getting something to eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” Rip replied because he wasn’t. The entire idea of eating seemed foreign to him.

“You should still eat,” Gideon insisted.

Unable to come up with a counter argument, Rip headed off to the galley. It was easier to obey anyway. It saved him from thinking about... everything.

The food fabricator in the galley could make almost any food you wanted, though not always well, but Rip didn’t want anything. He ended up going through the fridge and the cupboards over and over again staring at the few unfabricated foods he had and wondering what, if anything, he could force down.

Eventually, Gideon, either growing fed-up with him or deciding it best to intervene, activated the food fabricator herself.

A bowl of porridge materialized, adorned with nuts, berries, and a dollop of yogourt.

Rip stared blankly at it a moment, then picked the bowl up, grabbed a spoon, and sat down. 

He managed to eat half before he pushed it away. His throat felt like it had closed up and his jaw barely wanted to open so even eating that amount seemed to take an exceptionally long time. 

“It would be best if you attempted to finish it,” Gideon began. “Proper nutrition is important especially when—”

“Not now, Gideon,” Rip said, interrupting her.

He put his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands. A numbness had enveloped him, one he couldn’t explain. He felt he should still be screaming and ragging about the room or curled up on the floor weeping instead of just sitting there, but at the moment, the recent events seemed too much for his mind to even comprehend.

The A.I.’s next words were unusually hesitant. “Then if you’re done eating, there is a matter which needs to be addressed.”

“What matter?” Rip replied, his voice as lifeless as the rest of him.

“The stasis system in the medbay was not designed for the deceased. It will be inadequate for long term preservation and uses an excessive amount of power. You need to transfer the body to a morgue drawer as soon as possible.”

The body? Oh, Jonas, Rip realized, matter-of-factly. He needed to deal with Jonas. 

Unbidden a hundred questions flowed through his mind.

Was he going to bury Jonas? He couldn’t keep him on the ship forever and cremation or disintegration was not something he felt he could handle after Miranda had been... But where was he gong to bury him? Should he put him in a casket? What type of casket? Gideon could easily fabricate one but it might be more appropriate to buy one. Should he dress him in nice clothes? That was what people did, wasn’t it? He would love to bury Jonas in some of his favourite things but they were in the flat in Whitechapel and he wasn’t sure if the flat was even there anymore. 

Getting up from the table, Rip headed out of the galley.

Should he bury an empty casket for Miranda alongside Jonas? He would need headstones too but what would he put on them? Names, yes, but dates wouldn’t even be possible for Miranda. Should he add some sort of quote? Was that what Miranda would want? Did she have a will? Embarrassingly, Rip realized he didn’t know. He had made arrangements with Gideon and Druce to notify Miranda and take care of his family in case he should die but he had never imagined they would go first.

He wandered down the ship’s corridors unaware of his surroundings, the questions in his head drowning everything else out.

And as for a funeral, who would even come? Who should he notify? Their friends in London were either dead or busy trying to survive. The Time Masters, other than Druce, had cut Miranda out of their lives when she resigned and they didn’t even know about Jonas.

God, his mother. He would have to tell his mother.

Finally reaching the medbay, Rip came to a halt in the doorway.

Jonas was where he had left him, lying on the medbay bed, bathed in the green light of the stasis field. One of the morgue drawers along the back wall was open, already prepared by Gideon to receive its new occupant.

“The morgue drawer is ready, Captain,” the A.I. said. “Please transfer the body.”

Rip took a step towards Jonas.

Jonas was so still. It was so odd seeing him so still. Jonas had always been so full of life and energy. He had run rings around his parents. They had been constantly chasing after him as his curious nature led him to get his hands into everything.

Rip took another step, slightly more hesitant than the first.

Jonas’ eyes were a similar shade to his father’s and had always been full of light. Rip had an immense desire to see them again but Jonas’ eyes were closed and even if they had been open, the light wouldn’t have been there.

Rip finally made it to the edge of the bed. The stasis field vanished as Gideon deactivated it in preparation for the transfer. He reached out to pick Jonas up...

But this wasn’t Jonas.

Rip’s hands stopped a few inches from the body.

This wasn’t Jonas. This was just the cadaver he had left behind.

The numbness broke as a feeling so overwhelming it took his breath away welled up in Rip chest and spread outward until it had reached every part of him. It was so intense it felt more physical than emotional. If possible, Rip would have gladly used his own fingers to claw it out from inside of him.

“Captain?”

“I’m... I’m sorry, Gideon,” Rip choked out, shaking his head. “I can’t. I can’t.”

He couldn’t bring himself to touch the thing that had been Jonas. He couldn’t even stand to look at it anymore. Turning away, he ran out of the medbay. He continued when he got out, running down the corridors through the Waverider. His steps were clumsy and uncoordinated, and several times he careened into a wall but he kept running as if it were actually possible to outrun all the pain. 

He kept running until he reached the bridge. He almost ran straight into the console in the middle of the room, only managing to halt his momentum by bracing his hands against it. Letting his hands rest there, he leaned on the console, his chest heaving for air. He squeezed his eyes shut but found the image of his dead son still there, hidden behind his eyelids.

It was too much. He couldn’t take any more.

Turning around, he quickly climbed the steps up to his study and went over the row of bottles on the small table that stood at the side of the room. He grabbed one, not caring what it was, yanked the top off, and began drinking straight from the bottle. The liquid burned so badly he almost choked, but once he was done coughing, he immediately took another swallow. 

“Captain, I would advise against this,” Gideon said, concern filling her voice. “I know you are in pain but this will not make things better.”

“Then name me one thing that will.”

Gideon had no answer to that.

“My family is dead,” said Rip, bitter and broken. “I failed to protect my family and they are dead. Nothing will ever make that better.”

The drink was already starting to work filling him with a warm numbness, much better than the cold deadness that had enveloped him before, and lessening the hold of the despair which gripped him. 

Keeping a hold of the bottle, he let himself sink to the floor and sprawled against the base of one of the leather armchairs.

“Captain, please,” Gideon said, her voice breaking in a way that shouldn’t be possible for an A.I.

But Rip wasn’t listening. He drank and he drank. He drank, barely pausing to catch his breath between swallows, until the darkness finally claimed him and the bottle fell from his hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like this fic is going to be a bit longer than anticipated but the next part should be the last one, or at least, I hope.

Rip had always been so proud of the Waverider. The moment he first saw her he fell completely and utterly in love. He was overjoyed to be assigned as her captain. Before he took command, he carefully studied the ship inside and out pouring over the schematics until he knew every inch of her.

It took rather longer to get to know the ship’s A.I. and there were a number of hiccups along the way.

Gideon wasn’t what Rip had expected. He had known several A.I.’s in his time but none of them had been quite like her. All the A.I.’s had slightly different personalities and were given some ability to learn, adapt, and evolve, but they were primarily programmed to protect the timeline and obey the Time Masters, more specifically to protect and obey their captain. Rip hadn’t expected his A.I. to be quite so protective or quite so willing to offer such attitude-laden opinions. Gideon seemed to have ten times the personality of any A.I. he had met and he had no idea where she got it from.

"Are you sure that's what you want?" Gideon had said on one of his very first missions instead of opening the cargo bay door like he had asked.

"I'm sorry," Rip replied, brow furrowing in confusion.

"I merely thought it would be wise to rethink your strategy before you left. My analysis shows it only has a 23% chance of success."

Rip sighed wondering what he had done to deserve such a stubborn A.I. Weren't they meant to obey their captains without question? "Will you please just open the door?"

"As you wish," Gideon said, finally obeying his order. "I am also putting the medbay in standby mode in case of possible incidents."

Rip had simply rolled his eyes and marched out of the ship without a backwards glance.

Of course, Gideon was proven right. The mission was a disaster and Rip was extremely grateful the medbay was on standby when he returned to the Waverider with a badly burned arm.

There were several more clashes and misunderstandings in those early days, both Rip and Gideon slightly wary of the other, but after a few misadventures, Rip realized there was no one he would trust more.

The only problem was Miranda.

After their involvement had been discovered and Miranda resigned, the expectation was that they would never meet again. Miranda was set down in a time and place of her choosing and Rip went on to be promoted to captain and assigned his ship. He tried to put her behind him, he really did, but she was never far from his thoughts. After what happened in the Old West with Jonah, after he was forced to tear himself away from the place he had come to love so he could continue on as a Time Master, he decided to finally seek her out, and with Druce’s help, he found her.

And though Rip trusted Gideon with his life, he knew she was programmed with all the rules and regulations of the Time Masters including the fact attachments were strictly forbidden. He didn’t want to force Gideon to go against her programming—he wasn’t even sure if she could—so he did his best to keep his meetings with Miranda a secret. Unfortunately, he greatly underestimated Gideon’s intelligence and powers of observation. She figured things out fairly quickly though it took her awhile to let on she knew.

“You’ve known all this time?” Rip had exclaimed when she finally let him in on the fact.

“Of course,” Gideon replied, matter-of-factly.

Rip ran a hand through his hair, eyes wide with disbelief. “And you never reported it to the council?”

“I did not.”

“But why?”

“Because you are my captain and ensuring your well-being is my primary purpose,” Gideon explained. “After your visits with Lieutenant Coburn, you show a marked improvement in your health. Your cortisol levels are decreased. Your serotonin levels are increased. To put it another way, she makes you... happy.”

A smile spread across Rip’s face. “She does. She truly does.”

The hangover Rip had when he woke up sprawled on the floor of his parlor was the worst he had ever experienced but it didn’t stop him from reaching for another bottle the moment he was able to stagger to his feet. He had never been much more than a social drinker. His collection of liquors was in many ways nothing more than a collection but he was making good use of it now.

Gideon was quick to protest. “You know this is not what Miranda and Jonas would want.”

“Well, that hardly matters now considering they’re dead,” was Rip’s reply. He opened the new bottle and closed his eyes as he poured the drink down his throat.

“Captain,” Gideon began but Rip wasn’t listening anymore.

Taking the bottle with him, he made his way out of the parlor. 

He started to wander through the Waverider, travelling the corridors in neverending circles, going in and out of rooms, the quarters, the cargo bay, the bridge, the brig, everywhere but the medbay. He shut the door to that room and did his best to avoid it as much as possible. He didn’t want to see what was in there, didn’t even want to think about it. He just continued to drift aimlessly through the ship taking a sip from his bottle whenever his thoughts started to stray into dangerous territory. The alcohol couldn’t take all the pain away but it took the edge off, kept the feeling in his chest from crushing him and stealing the air from his lungs.

Sometimes he would stand in the middle of a room for awhile, swaying slightly and staring at nothing.

Sometimes he would slump tiredly against a wall or take a seat somewhere but usually not for long. If he stayed still for too long, the dark reminders of what had happened would begin to creep up on him. 

Eventually, he curled up in a corner of the cargo bay and let himself pass out once more. 

When he woke up, he grabbed another bottle and began all over again.

The first meeting between Miranda and Gideon went reasonably well though there were a few tense moments.

“How do I know what you say is true?” Miranda asked, arms folded across her chest, staring at Gideon’s hologram as if sizing her up. “That you won’t report us to the Time Masters. Excuse my doubt but I’ve known quite a few A.I.’s in my time and they have difficulty handling anything they weren’t programmed to do, let alone going against something which is part of their core programming.”

“How do I know you won’t do something to harm Captain Hunter?” Gideon countered. “You are well positioned to cause him considerable pain and heartbreak should you do anything to reject him.”

Miranda bristled. “I would never hurt Rip. I love him with all my heart and soul.”

Rip, who had been standing to one side hoping he wouldn’t need to intervene, blushed. Admissions of love were still not something he was used to especially when anyone other than he and Miranda were present.

“Then I believe we share a mutual interest,” Gideon replied. “In ensuring the Captain’s health and happiness, that is,” she added.

Miranda stared at Gideon a moment longer, her expression thoughtful. “Rip trusts you," she finally said. "He isn’t always right about these things but I believe he’s right about this so I’m willing to trust you too. Just don’t let me down. I’m counting on you to look after him.”

“I promise to take good care of him,” Gideon assured her.

Rip briefly considered protesting the fact he needed taking care of but decided to just be grateful the two were getting along.

After that, Gideon and Miranda became good friends, which wasn’t always a good thing. They liked to gang up on Rip when they thought he wasn’t looking after himself and Gideon developed a bad habit of snitching on him to Miranda whenever he did something he wasn’t supposed to.

Often when Miranda was onboard the Waverider, Rip would come across the two of them deep in conversation. Miranda enjoyed talking to Gideon quite a lot and it made sense. There was no one left, besides Rip, who she could talk to about her past life since she had resigned from the Time Masters. Miranda had given up so much for Rip and he always worried he wouldn't be able to make it up to her.

Now, he knew he never would.

The drinking continued, Rip staying on the opposite side of sober as much as possible, the days passing by in a haze.

The type of drink varied. Rum, whiskey, vodka, Rip didn’t care as long as it kept him numb. Gideon eventually refused to fabricate him more but he still had a considerable supply in his parlor, and when she attempted to cut him off by shutting off access to the bridge, he just sat outside until she relented and opened the doors once more.

The wandering continued as well. Rip didn’t shower or change his clothes or do anything but go restlessly round and round the ship as if searching for something that wasn’t there.

While he wandered, music would occasionally start to play, his favourite tunes echoing down the corridors. The music came and went switching from classical to jazz to rock.

Sometimes the sounds soothed him.

Sometimes they failed to penetrate the numbness in this chest.

Rip rarely made an effort to eat but food would appear in the fabricator whenever he was in the galley. Food would even appear when he wasn’t there, strongly aromatic food whose smells would mysteriously manage to reach him wherever he happened to be.

Sometimes it was enough to entice him to eat, his rumbling stomach reminding him it was necessary.

Sometimes though he couldn’t stand the sight or smell of food and once he threw a dish of his favourite pasta across the galley. It remained there splattered on the floor.

When things became too much, Rip would curl up on the floor wherever he happened to be. Sometimes there would be tears, more often not. He felt beyond tears now, beyond everything. As he lay there, he would feel a gentle rise in the temperature around him and a deepening in the vibrations of the deck beneath him, and if he was lucky enough, it would send him off to sleep.

The dreams he fell into though were seldom an escape.

Rip was so eager for Gideon to meet Jonas he insisted he and Miranda head straight to the Waverider the moment they left the hospital.

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Rip asked as he gazed enchantedly at the sleeping baby cradled in his arms.

“He is certainly a healthy example of humanity,” Gideon replied.

Rip rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “Gideon...”

“I do not know what you wish me to say,” said the A.I. “I was not programmed to judge the relative attractiveness of human beings.”

“So you’re saying my baby is not the most perfect baby you have ever seen?” said Rip, eyebrows raised pointedly.

“Perfection is an unattainable construct,” Gideon countered.

Rip shook his head knowing perfectly well Gideon was teasing him.

Jonas chose that moment to wake up, eyes peeking out of sleepy slits as he let out a tiny yawn.

“Though I must admit your son does come as close to perfection as humanly possible,” Gideon added.

Rip grinned.

And then Jonas’ face screwed up and he began to howl.

“He also appears to have a healthy set of lungs.”

“Thank you, Gideon,” Rip said sarcastically as he began to gently rock Jonas back and forth.

The A.I.’s voice was perhaps a touch smug as she added, “I am sure you will enjoy hearing them for many nights to come.”

“Yes. Thank you, Gideon.”

Cooing soft words to his son, Rip headed off in search of his wife.

That was far from the last time Gideon got the chance to see Jonas. Rip would always bring the family around to visit the Waverider whenever he came back to London. Gideon would complain if he didn’t. Jonas loved Gideon and the two would have the oddest conversation on everything from electronics to elephants. Gideon, in turn, was always very good at keeping an eye on Jonas and making sure to alert his parents when he inevitably got himself into something he shouldn’t have. 

There were even a few family trips through time though they always had to be extremely careful the Time Masters didn’t find out. Miranda would take the piloting controls grinning with pure joy at being at the helm of a timeship once again and Jonas would sit on Rip’s lap, his eyes lighting up in amazement as they plunged into the time stream. 

Those were always Rip’s happiest moments, everything and everyone he loved together in one place, his tiny piece of paradise.

“If I could make days last forever, if words could make wishes come true...”

Singing quietly to himself, Rip stumbled down the corridor for the thousandth time, one hand holding a half-empty bottle, the other continuously reaching out to the wall to keep himself from falling over. 

“I'd save every day like a treasure and then again, I would spend them with you...”

His voice was rough and broken, little resembling his usual tenor, but he kept singing hoping it would drown out the voices in his head. As much as he wished it, the drinking alone wasn’t enough to keep all the unwanted thoughts from his mind. They continued to creep up on him no matter how much he pushed them away, the unwanted thoughts and the images. Often the same ones would play themselves over and over again in a neverending loop.

“But there never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do, once you find them...”

Sometimes it would be memories. Occasionally, they were good ones, times spent with his family, domestic moments, holidays trips, lazy afternoons, though even the happy memories had a bitterness about them now. More often it was the image of Miranda and Jonas as he first saw them crumpled on the ground in the middle of the ruins of London or the feel of their cold bodies as he cradled them in his arms.

“I've looked around enough to know that you're the one I want to go through time with...”

Sometimes it would be accusations. His own inner voice demanding to know why he hadn’t returned to London sooner, why he hadn’t realized it wasn’t safe, why he hadn’t left the Time Masters long ago so he could have spent more time with Miranda and Jonas and been with them when they were attacked.

And the continuous reminder that he had failed, he had failed his wife and son.

“If I had a box just for wishes...”

Every now and then though even more insidious thoughts would enter Rip’s mind, suggestions of what he could do to make things right. He had a time machine. All he had to do was go back in time and make a few changes. That’s what he was good at after all. 

“...and dreams that had never come true...”

The more he thought about it the more tempting it became and the further he found himself inching down that dangerous road. The Time Masters gave all their Captains numerous talks on this sort of thing warning them about changing time for their own personal gain. They gave examples of the horrible consequences that could occur and held ethical debates demanding their students defend the choice to save one person’s life while not saving countless others.

“The box would be empty, except for... the memory of how... they were answered by you...”

Of course, there was a way around that, a way he could change things that would have no consequences on time whatsoever.

Unbidden, Rip’s feet began leading him towards the bridge.

“But there never seems... to be enough time...”

The possibility had been lurking at the back of his mind for a while now. He had tried hard not to think about it but the idea remained whispering enticingly.

Once he reached the bridge, he headed over to the parlor.

“...to do the things you want to do...”

It would be so easy to give in, to follow the temptation to its inevitable conclusion and finally make the world right once more, get out of the nightmare he seemed to have fallen into.

Rip walked up the short flight of steps leading up to the study, eyes fixed on the floor at the back of the room, or more precisely on one particular tile.

“...once you find them...”

He had promised himself he would never use it but that was before.

Standing a foot from the tile, he took another swig from his bottle and stared down at the compartment hidden there.

“I've looked around...”

The Spear of Destiny. The power to reshape reality, to remake the world exactly as he wanted it. He only had the one piece but it wouldn’t be too hard to get the rest. He knew where they were. It wouldn’t take too much effort to convince the others to give over their pieces. He could even lie if necessary, tell them the pieces were no longer safe with them or that some great disaster needed to be adverted.

Rip knelt down and placed his hand on the tile. For a moment, he imagined he could feel it, the throbbing power beneath his palm.

“...enough to know...”

It would be so easy.

“...that you're...”

He could bring Jonas and Miranda back to life. They would be safe and happy once more. He could bring all the other people killed by that Vandal Savage back too and restore London to its former glory.

“...the one I want...”

But why stop there. He could changes things so the Time Masters accepted Miranda and Jonas. He wouldn’t have to hide anymore. He could make it so his family were always safe, always happy. Nothing would hurt them ever again.

“...to go...”

And there was even more he could do. He could right all the injustices he had seen and been forced to turn a blind eye to as he travelled through time.

“...through...”

He would save the innocent and punish the wicked.

“...time...”

Casting judgment across the world choosing who lived and who died.

“...with...”

He would be like an all powerful god, unstoppable.

“No!” Rip cried, yanking his hand back. He scrambled backwards across the floor away from the hidden compartment and what it held. “No no no no no no no no...”

How could he have even thought about using the spear? He had almost lost his life several times over retrieving it and making sure it could never be used. No one should have that sort of power. No one, especially not him.

Realizing he was still holding the bottle of liquor, he threw it across the room. It hit the opposite wall and shattered, the little liquid that remained spattering across the surface.

He pulled his knees towards his chest and wrapped his arms around them, curling himself into a ball as he began to tremble.

What was he becoming? Before this he would never have even considered such a thing. Was he going to lose himself along with his family?

Squeezing his eyes shut, Rip bowed his head.

Maybe he should have stayed there in the middle of the Blitz, let himself be blown up with Miranda. Maybe that would have been better.

A light flickered, bright enough to penetrate Rip’s self-imposed darkness and he raised his head to gaze blearily at it.

What he saw standing in front of him stole the remains of the breath from his lungs.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, this story will actually have five chapters, not four, but I promise the next one will definitely be the last.

Miranda was the one who proposed.

Rip had wanted to, he really had. He had thought about it for years, his eyes straying towards engagement rings whenever they were in the vicinity, but something always held him back. It wasn’t as if he didn’t love Miranda. He loved her with every part of his being and he knew she loved him too but still he hesitated. 

Maybe because a part of him deep down still believed it was wrong.

Throughout a good portion of Rip’s life, any sign of affection beyond professional camaraderie was not allowed. The Time Masters were so quick to enforce this rule some were scared to even sit too close to another person. Rip had seen cadets at the academy suspended for hugging. Affection was strictly forbidden because affection meant attachment and attachment meant weakness. It also meant you weren’t able to do your job with the cold calculating logic the Time Masters had always preferred. 

Before he met Miranda, Rip had believed that to be true. He had fallen for the company doctrine hook, line, and sinker, and as marriage was always portrayed as the ultimate sign of attachment, it felt like getting married would be like breaking the most cardinal of edicts. So even after becoming involved with Miranda, even after meeting up with her secretly after she was forced to resign, Rip hesitated to take that next step.

Fortunately, Miranda had always been much braver than him.

It was a summer evening and they were strolling alongside the river with only the stars for company when she popped the question.

For a long time, Rip could only stare at her. “Are you sure?” he finally asked.

Miranda tilted her head to the side and gave him that fond smile she always gave him when she thought he was being particularly thick. “Of course, I’m sure. I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

“But... But...” Rip stuttered for several moments as he tried to get his head around the idea. “But if I continue going on missions for the Time Masters, you’ll only be able to see me every month or two at most. Do you honestly want to be married to someone who is never there? Spend your life waiting for me to come home?”

“Now now,” Miranda chided. “Who said anything about me spending all my time waiting around for you? I have a whole life to lead. I want to do all the things I was never allowed to do as a Time Master. I want to explore. I want to create. I want to do things just for fun and help people without having to worry about their impact on the timeline. There’s so much I want to do and I want share as much as possible of it with you even if it is only for a few days every month or so.”

A smile as brilliant as the dawn spread across Rip’s face as he found himself falling in love with her all over again. This is what had drawn him to her in the first place, her energy, her hope, her drive, the light which seemed to radiate from her. The warm glow he felt at that moment was enough to drive away all his doubts.

“I would be honoured to be part of that life,” he told her.

Miranda raised her eyebrows expectantly. “So is that a yes?”

“What?” said Rip in confusion, only belatedly realizing what she was referring to. “I mean, yes. Of course, yes, yes, yes.”

They grinned and laughed and kissed and all seemed right with the world.

The wedding took place on the Waverider. There was no one they could really invite other than their adopted mother and having it on the ship meant not only could Gideon attend but she could perform the ceremony too, something both Rip and Miranda felt was appropriate as without her they would have never been able to stay together.

The ceremony was small but it was beautiful and touching and everyone’s eyes glistened with tears of joy.

Rip felt he could never be happier than he was on that day until the day Miranda told him she was pregnant and his son was born.

“Jonas?” said Rip in disbelief, the word coming out like an exhaled breath as he stared at the glowing image in front of him.

Logically, Rip knew it couldn’t be Jonas, that it was only a hologram, but for a moment, for a horrible fleeting moment where his heart leapt painfully in his chest, he thought his son was with him once more.

“Go ahead, Jonas. He’s listening.”

The sound of Miranda’s voice coming through the speakers cut deeper than he would have conceived possible. 

He swallowed convulsively.

The message, of course, the last message they had sent. He had forgotten all about it.

“Hi, Daddy. We miss you,” said the hologram of Jonas, hands clasped together in front of him as he rocked slightly from side to side. 

The stance was an imitation of his mother’s. Jonas was often doing things like that, things that reminded Rip of Miranda. He had always believed there was more of her in Jonas than himself.

“And love you,” Miranda prompted from somewhere out of sight.

“And love you,” Jonas obediently repeated.

A tear quietly trailed down Rip’s cheek.

He had only been half paying attention when he first saw the message. What should have been a simple mission had got complicated, things not going according to plan and threatening to implode in a bad way. He had been in the middle of trying to fix it when the message came through reminding him he had promised he would be home several days ago. 

“Anything else you want to say?”

“Come home soon, Daddy.”

Turning around, Jonas ran off, giggling and flapping his hands as he vanished 

The giggle, the way he flapped his hands, little things which made up who his son was and all so precious. It almost made Rip smile. He felt an irrational urge to run after him, not wanting to let him go.

There was nothing for a moment; then Miranda appeared, the holographic image of her shining with the glow he had always felt she had in life.

“Hi, Rip. I’m not sure if you got our last message.”

He hadn’t. He wasn’t sure why. It must have got lost somewhere in its journey through the time stream.

“I told Jonas you’d got caught up with work but I really thought you’d be home by now.”

He should have been. Why had he let work take precedence over his own family once again?

“London is... Things have changed. It’s hard to tell what’s going on with so many soldiers and rumours.”

Her words had left him with an uneasiness which had nagged him throughout the rest of his mission making him rush through it as quickly as possible. He should have just dropped everything and gone straight home.

“I just want to know you’re alright, wherever you are, whenever you are. 

Wherever, whenever, that’s what she would always say. They would be together, wherever, whenever.

“I love you, Rip,” Miranda whispered, and with those words, the hologram froze.

Rip slowly got to his feet and took a step towards her. She was beautiful. She had always been so beautiful, inside and out. He raised a hand to touch her cheek and then let it fall knowing it would be pointless.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry, Miranda. You didn’t deserve to die like that.”

The image flickered and then vanished.

Rip closed his eyes and bowed his head.

“Captain?” said Gideon, sounding unusually uncertain. “Captain, my apologies. Your behaviour had been growing increasingly erratic. You were becoming a danger to yourself and I thought... I thought seeing them again, even in this form, would make you feel better.”

Letting out a tired sigh, Rip rubbed a hand across his face. He felt worn down, through and through. “It’s... It’s alright, Gideon.” 

“But all I’ve done is make you more upset,” she replied, her voice filled with such despair Rip gazed up in surprise.

“I’m not,” he said trying to reassure her. “Really, I’m not.”

“Then why are you crying?”

Frowning, Rip reached a hand up to his cheek and felt dampness there. He hadn’t even noticed the tears falling. The sudden appearance of the hologram had hurt but just having the chance to see and hear his family again had soothed some of the ache in his soul, and seeing them like this, with the life still shining in their eyes, instead of as he had last seen them, an image that had been haunting him non-stop over the past few days, was infinitely better. 

“Because I miss them,” he said quietly. 

He missed them more than he could say. Even though he had never seen them as much as he would have liked, continuing on without having them there safely back in London acting as his anchor seemed unimaginable. 

Rip gazed at the spot where the hologram of Miranda had recently been standing. “I have so little left of them.”

The message was one of the few things he had. When it came to Miranda, he didn’t even have a body to bury. Everything in London was probably gone and he hadn’t kept many mementos of his family on the Waverider. It was too dangerous. It wasn’t often that another Time Master came onboard but if they spotted anything that linked him to Miranda and Jonas while they were, he would have been done. All he had were a couple trinkets tucked away in a hidden compartment, a few photos, a couple of Jonas’ old toys and drawings, a hairbrush Miranda had once left behind, the pocket watch she had given him. He would have to add Miranda’s ring to the collection.

Suddenly, Rip’s eyes widened.

Miranda's ring.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of the old trousers he wore, searching through them.

The ring. Where had he put the ring?

He scanned the study hoping to catch a glimpse of gold but there was nothing. He quickly went through the objects and papers scattered across the table in the middle of the room, then did the same to his desk but again nothing.

“What are you searching for?” inquired Gideon.

Rip held up a hand. “Just a minute, Gideon.”

He closed his eyes as he thought back over the past few days something made rather difficult by the fact he had spent most of the time in a drunken haze. He could barely even be called sober at the moment. Going back further, he tried to recall what he had done with the ring when he first got back on the ship. After taking it off Miranda’s finger, he had put it in his jacket pocket but had he taken it out again? He couldn’t remember.

Spurred on by a burst of energy the like of which he hadn’t felt in what seemed like ages, Rip ran out of the study and through the winding corridors to his quarters. Once there, he began to rummage through his dirty clothes trying to locate the jacket, frantically tossing things aside as he searched, but he couldn’t find it. The longer he went without success the more his panic grew.

He had lost Miranda. He couldn’t lose her ring too. It might only be an object but it was one of the few things of hers he had left.

He got through all his clothes without a single glimpse of the jacket. Threading his fingers through his hair, he stood in the middle of the room and spun around gazing at the clothing strewn across the floor.

“Where is it?” he cried in desperation. “Where the hell is it?!”

“Where is what?” asked Gideon, her tone tinged with concern.

“My jacket, my leather jacket.”

“Your jacket is on the floor in the medbay washroom. Why are you...”

Rip didn’t hear the rest of her question as he was already racing out the door.

Of course, it was in the medbay. He couldn’t believe he had forgotten that. He had taken it off when he had his shower, dropping it on the floor and never bothering to pick it up again.

He hesitated just a moment when he reached the door to the medbay; then he hit the switch to open it and ran inside paying attention only to his destination and ignoring all else. Once inside the washroom, he fell to his knees beside the pile of discarded clothes and pulled out his jacket.

His heart beat wildly. What if the ring wasn’t there? What if it had fallen out during his mad dash back to the ship?

He shoved his hand into one of the front pockets.

It was empty.

He tried the other.

His fingers wrapped around something, something small and solid with a smooth, rounded surface. He pulled it out and opened his hand to look.

Miranda’s ring rested on his palm, the gold glinting in the washroom’s faint light.

Rip let out a long, shaky breath and sat back almost collapsing against the wall behind him. Wrapping his fingers around the ring, he clutched it so tightly the metal bit painfully into his skin.

“That is what you were searching for?” Gideon asked, gently.

“I know it’s ridiculous getting so upset over a ring,” said Rip, “but...” He trailed off.

“It’s a symbol of the connection and love you shared,” Gideon finished for him, “and you do not want to lose that last bit of what you had.”

Rip nodded. “Thank you for helping me find it, and... and I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Gideon. I know I’ve been rather difficult to deal with recently.”

“Yes, you have,” Gideon said in a tone which made Rip’s lips quirk upwards in something that was almost a smile, “but it’s understandable given the circumstances.”

“I just don’t know how to go on without them,” Rip confessed. “How can I keep being who I am without that part of me? How can I live with the knowledge I failed them? Nothing makes sense anymore.” 

“I wish I could make things better but I was not programmed with the ability to fix this type of wound.” The depth of sadness in Gideon’s voice was much more than many would have given an A.I. credit for.

“I know, Gideon.” Rip ran a hand along the nearby wall feeling it vibrate beneath his fingers. “And you have helped. I know I wouldn’t have survived the past few days without you, but I don’t think there’s any way to make this truly better.” After a moment of silence, he asked, “Do you think I’ll ever see them again?”

There was a pause before Gideon replied. “I am afraid that is another thing I was not programmed with the knowledge of, but I believe there is more to the world than is currently known and that may include a place where you will be reunited.”

“I wish I could believe that,” Rip said, wistfully.

“Perhaps one day you will.”

“One day? Maybe.” Rip opened his hand to look at the ring once more, turning it over in his palm as he ran his fingers along its smooth surface. “At the moment, I’m still trying to figure out how to keep living.”

Reaching up to his neck, Rip undid the chain that hung there and pulled it free. It was a simple chain, the type dogtags would have hung from on soldiers in the twentieth century, but instead of dogtags, Rip had a ring, his wedding ring. 

The chain had been a necessity. He had wanted to keep the ring with him at all times but wearing it on his finger would have given himself away. He had barely got the chance to wear it at all, only during his much too brief honeymoon and occasionally at home when he felt like seeing the ring sitting there on his finger as if he were a normal husband and not a Time Master always away on some sort of mission. Most of the time it hung around his neck, such a part of him he often forgot it was even there.

He slid Miranda’s ring onto the chain too where it clinked against his slightly larger one; then he placed the chain back around his neck so the rings could rest against his chest close to his heart.

“May I make a suggestion?” asked Gideon.

“Please,” Rip replied as he tucked the chain back under his shirt.

“While I am not an expert on living, especially living as a human, I believe the only thing you can do is keep moving, take one thing at a time and see where it leads. Hopefully after a while, the world will begin to make sense once again.”

Rip took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I’ll try,” he said though there was little confidence in his voice. “For you,” he added, quietly.

“Then perhaps it is time to do what needs to be done,” said Gideon.

Rip gazed at the open doorway leading out to the rest of the medbay. He knew what she wanted him to do but he wasn’t sure if he had the courage.

Taking another deep breath, he got to his feet and made his way out of the washroom.

Jonas was still there lying on the medbay bed, bathed in the green light of the stasis field. His body was perfectly preserved and in some ways that almost made it worse. Gazing at him, Rip could almost believe he was simply sleeping, that Miranda had just put him down for a nap and he would wake up at any moment demanding his father play with him. 

Rip crossed the room having to force himself to take every step, his body heavy and weighted. Once he reached Jonas, Gideon dropped the stasis field and the green light vanished. Rip gazed at Jonas a long while before he slowly bent down and took his son into arms as he had done so many times before. 

When Jonas was a baby, Rip used to rock him to sleep. When Jonas was a toddler, he had hugged him as he cried. Even as Jonas grew bigger, he had continued to carry him. He had carried him if he were tired, if he had fallen asleep, or if he simiply wanted to be held in his father’s arms. And now Rip carried him one more time, taking him across the medbay and lying him down in the morgue drawer Gideon had prepared for him. It was a cold, sterile resting place, much too big for Jonas’ small frame, and Rip promised himself he would find somewhere better, somewhere full of life and light just as Jonas had been.

He leaned over and placed a kiss on Jonas’ forehead. “Goodbye, my son.”

Rip gently brushed back Jonas’ hair and ran his hands over his clothes smoothing down the wrinkles feeling the urge to grab a blanket so he could tuck him in one last time.

Something stiff crinkled under Rip’s hands as he ran them over Jonas’ coat. Frowning, he reached into the pocket and pulled out a piece of paper folded into quarters. He hesitated a moment and then opened it expecting to find one of Jonas’ many drawings.

It wasn’t a drawing.

It was a note. Flowing letters in an old-fashioned hand were scrawled across the white surface and it was addressed to him.

 _My dear Captain Hunter_ , it said. _It was wonderful to have the chance to finally meet your family. I thought you would like to know they both died bravely, no tears, no begging, no cries for mercy. Your boy didn’t even flinch when he watched me shoot his mother and when his turn came he stood proud and tall. Of course, that made no difference. My face was the last thing he saw before I shot him down like a dog. I look forward to doing the same to you one day._

The note was signed with an elaborate signature full of sharp loops and whirls but Rip was still able to make it out. 

_Vandal Savage._

Rip’s fingers tightened around the note crumpling the paper into a ball before letting it fall to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry but you knew this could never end well.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long but here's the final chapter. Enjoy!

“Bollocks,” Rip cursed as he rummaged through the contents of his bag. “Miranda, have you seen—”

He stopped abruptly as the object in question, one of the Waverider’s remote signalling devices, was held out in front of him.

“Thank you,” he said as he took the proffered item, ignoring his wife’s smug smile. He put the device in his bag and sealed it up before turning to face her. “So, here we are again.”

“Here we are again,” Miranda repeated. 

They were standing by the door of their flat, Rip preparing to leave for the hundredth time, getting ready to say his goodbyes for the hundredth time, wishing there was a safe way to take his family with him for the hundredth time.

“You’re sure this mission won’t take more than a fortnight?” Miranda asked.

Rip winced slightly. “It shouldn’t, but you know how these things are. My missions tend to be more than a little unpredictable.”

Miranda rolled her eyes. “I know. I know. It would just be nice to have a fixed timetable for once. I swear trying to coordinate our schedules is more difficult than any of the math problems we were given at the academy.”

“We’ll manage,” Rip assured her. “As soon as this mission is over, I’m all yours. The Time Council has granted me a whole month’s leave. That’s enough time to have our holiday and more.”

“So, they’ll be no unexpected surprise missions dragging you away?” Miranda raised her eyebrows in a pointed look.

“I promise,” Rip said, taking her hands in his. “I’ll even have Gideon lock down the Waverider’s engines so I can’t take off on you.”

Miranda laughed. “Don’t do that. Gideon would hate it. Besides, I thought we’d take her up to the Lake District with us. You know how lonely she’ll get if we leave her here all on her own.”

“True,” said Rip, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Daddy!”

A small form burst between them and Rip reached down to lift his son into his arms. At nine years of age, Jonas was really getting too big to be picked up but Rip insisted on doing so for as long as his son would let him.

“Why, hello there,” he said as he grinned at his son. “Was there something you wanted?”

Jonas' eyes were bright and earnest. “When we go on holiday, you’ll take us sailing, won’t you?”

The lines on Rip’s forehead deepened. “Sailing?”

“Like in the book.”

Rip gazed quizzically at Miranda.

“Swallows and Amazons,” she explained.

“Ah,” Rip said in understanding. “So that’s what you’re reading now days.”

“Mummy gave it to me,” said Jonas. “Please can we go.”

Taking a deep breath, Rip mulled it over though he knew very well there was little chance of him denying his son anything. “Alright,” he said finally, “as long as you’re good.”

“I’m always good.”

Rip chuckled. “Of course, you are.” He placed a kiss on his son’s temple. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Jonas said back as he wrapped his arms around Rip, squeezing tightly.

Rip squeezed back and then let Jonas slide out of his arms onto the floor.

The boy quickly dashed off, already intent on something else.

“So which one of us is going to learn how to sail a dinghy over the next couple weeks?” Miranda asked as they watched him go.

“It can’t be that hard,” Rip replied. “I mean I am an expert pilot and I have been on a sailing ship more than once.”

The look Miranda gave him showed she was clearly unimpressed. “If you want to give it a go, be my guest. Jonas and I will be watching from the shoreline. I'm sure it will be quite the spectacle.”

Rip rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll hire someone to take us out, but you get to be the one to explain to Jonas why the Lake District doesn’t look like it did 250 years ago. You’re the one who gave him the book after all.”

“Deal,” Miranda agreed, but then her face fell. “If we make it up to the Lake District that is. You heard the news earlier.” 

“Yes and I admit it doesn’t sound good, but I assure you we have nothing to worry about.” 

“Really? Savage has practically taken over the entire former Union and everyone seems certain he’ll come here next. They’ve tripled the defences along the channel. I’ve even seen soldiers marching down the streets.”

“But we know he won’t,” Rip said, rubbing a hand reassuringly across her back. “Druce told us London would be safe in this era.” He gazed into her eyes trying to impart some of the conviction he felt. “Savage is nothing more than another tin-pot dictator. He’ll be overthrown and forgotten within a year. Just wait and see.”

“I hope so,” said Miranda with a wan smile. “Either way, I’ll be a lot happier when you’re back with us.”

“So will I.” Leaning forward, Rip gently kissed her, then rested his forehead against hers. “I wish I could stay.”

Miranda snorted. “No, you don’t. You would go crazy if you were stuck here without some crazy adventure to go off on, saving space and time from the forces of evil and all that.”

“I do have a reputation to maintain,” Rip said jokingly as they pulled apart once more. “I am the great Captain Rip Hunter after all.”

“Of course, dearest, and would the great Captain Rip Hunter mind doing one more thing for me before he leaves?”

Rip’s voice was filled with complete sincerity when he replied. “Anything.”

“Take the recycling with you on your way out,” said Miranda, eyes twinkling.

Rip let out a sigh. “Yes, dear.”

Slinging his duffel over his shoulder, he grabbed the bags of recycling from off the floor and headed for the door.

“Love you,” Miranda called out after him. “Remind Gideon to not let you do anything stupid.”

Rip shook his head in exasperated amusement. “Love you too.”

Exiting the building, he took the recycling down to the curb. He dumped it in the bins waiting there, and then turned to look back, eyes travelling up to one of the top floor windows. A small face was visible. Jonas grinned as soon as Rip’s eyes met his and began waving.

Rip smiled as he waved back; then he turned away and headed down the road to where he had left the Waverider, no idea that that was the last time he would ever see his family alive.

The slam of Rip’s boots against the floor echoed loudly as he stomped down the corridor.

“Captain?” Gideon called out, a hint of trepidation in her voice.

Cold fury radiated off of Rip. It had overwhelmed him the moment he finished reading the note hidden in Jonas’s coat, pushing all other thoughts and emotions away. 

“I want everything you have on Vandal Savage,” he said, “and I mean everything, down to his bloody shoe size if you have it.”

“Compiling information,” Gideon replied, still sounding wary.

Vandal Savage... Who was this man? Rip didn’t think he had ever felt hatred like this before. It seemed to permeate every part of him from his clenched jaw to his curled fists. He hadn’t even realized he was capable of hating someone this much. 

His fury led him straight to the bridge and his study. “Let’s hear what you’ve got,” he said as he arrived. “Starting with how some tin-pot dictator with delusions of grandeur managed to take over the entire world.”

Various documents appeared on the large screen at the back of the room and Gideon began dictating the information she had gathered.

“Vandal Savage, former regent of the Kasnia Conglomerate and self-proclaimed Emperor of Earth, was born under the name Hath-Set in Egypt around 1700 B.C.”

Rip, who had been pacing back and forth across the room as he listened, stopped in surprise. “Wait. What?”

“Records indicate that Savage was a priest of Ramses the second,” Gideon continued. “He was exposed to mutative elements from a meteorite which rendered him immortal.”

“You’re telling me this man is 4000 years old?”

“That is correct. There are reports of him from all across that period.”

A series of images appeared on the screen, photographs and paintings from different eras, all showing the same man. Rip stared at them in shock as Gideon continued to speak.

“Many of the references to him are vague and incomplete as if he were attempting to keep his existence hidden, but they tend to place him in the vicinity of large conflicts or disasters, often as an advisor to people of great import.”

“He spent all those years in the background quietly influencing things, biding his time until he was in position to take over the planet?” Rip was starting to get a feeling for what he was up against and it wasn’t good.

“Most likely,” Gideon replied.

Rip shook his head in disbelief. How many of Earth’s worst moments in history had been perpetrated or made worse by this man? How much devastation had he caused? As if what he had done in 2166 hadn't been enough.

“Do the Time Council know about this?” he asked but then he answered his own question. “Of course, they do.” 

They must know, they knew virtually everything after all, but Rip couldn’t understand how they could just let this sort of thing happen. Maybe the Council weren’t aware of the extent of Savage’s influence.

One of the images of Savage was an oil painting done in the Renaissance style. Rip studied it trying to the understand who the man was and how he could have done such things. The painter had managed to capture a particular cunningness in Savage’s eyes and smugness in his smile that spoke volumes. Rip felt his hatred and fury flare up again. That face, those eyes, that smile. They were the last things Jonas saw before he died.

Rip resumed his pacing. “I need to know more, his strengths, his weaknesses, the best way to... deal with him.”

“Deal with him?” Gideon repeated. “Captain, what exactly are you proposing to do?”

“That man murdered my wife and son,” Rip snapped bitterly. “What do you think I’m going to do?”

The full weight of what he was planning hit him and Rip suddenly felt the need to sit down. The leather armchair creaked as he collapsed into it. Leaning forward, he leaned his elbows on his knees and placed his head in his hands. Was he really going to do this? Take law and judgment into his own hands and kill a man? He didn’t even recall consciously making the decision. All he knew was that this was what he had to do. He had to make Savage pay.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” said Gideon, “but you can not kill Vandal Savage.”

Rip lifted his gaze, scowling at the ceiling. “Why not? Because it’s wrong? Because it would effect the timeline?”

“Because Savage can not be killed.”

Rip frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Gideon explained. “The meteorite which made Savage immortal also gave him immense regenerative powers. He can heal from any wound.”

“Then I’ll blow the man to smithereens!” Rip declared. “That should take care of him.”

Gideon’s tone was apologetic. “I am afraid that would not work. Savage’s powers make it possible for him to regenerate from a single cell.”

“There must be some way,” Rip protested.

There was a pause before Gideon continued as if the A.I. were reluctant to reply. “According to a twentieth century professor, an expert on Savage, there were two others effected by the same meteorite, High Priestess Chay-Ara and Prince Khufu. They were not made immortal but were forced to reincarnate each time they died. They were also given wings.”

“Wings?” Something about that sounded familiar.

“They became Hawkgirl and Hawkman during the twenty-first century and dedicated their lives to helping people, later joining—”

“Right, right,” Rip interrupted, nodding his head. “I know who those two are but why are they important?”

“It is believed that they are the only ones who can kill Savage. Apparently, he was jealous of their love and attempted to kill them before the meteor struck and has since killed them in every single one of their reincarnations.”

“So am I supposed to somehow recruit them and convince them to help me?” Rip thought about the possibility for a moment but then dismissed it. “No, no, no. That would never work.”

He sprung to his feet and began restlessly pacing the room once again.

“There has to be another way...”

And then suddenly he knew. He knew exactly what he had to do.

He was half-way across the bridge before the idea had even fully formed in his mind.

“Gideon,” he said as he swung himself into the pilot’s chair and lowered the restraints, “I need you to set a course for Egypt 1700 B.C. a few months before the meteor strike.”

The chair moved into position at the front of the bridge and Rip tapped at the control panel on the chair’s arm as he got ready for the jump, but after a moment he realized the ship’s engines had yet to engage.

“Is there a problem with the engines?” he asked impatiently.

Another moment passed before Gideon spoke, and then instead of replying to Rip’s question, she said, “You are planning to kill Savage before he becomes immortal.”

“Exactly. When we get to Egypt, I’ll track down his location and then I’ll...” He trailed off, not quite able to say the words. Doubts arose once again but he quickly squashed them. He had no choice. He had to do this. “He won’t be expecting it,” he continued. “And as a priest of the pharaoh, he shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

He grabbed ahold of the thruster and gazed down at the readout on the control panel but it still showed the engines to be in standby mode.

“Gideon, let’s go.”

There was no reply.

Rip’s eyebrows drew together as he frowned. “Gideon?”

When the A.I. finally spoke, her tone was sharp, her words berating. “The full extent of Savage’s influence on history is unclear. Killing him in 1700 BC when he has lived so long could have profound consequences.”

A sudden understanding hit Rip, and his heart, which he hadn’t thought could get any lower, sank. 

The engines weren’t the problem.

He spun the chair back around and got up going over to the bridge’s central console. “Please, Gideon. I need to do this.”

Gideon’s holographic avatar appeared above the console, an unusual sternness set into her normally pleasant features. “You are planning to change the timeline.”

“Yes, I admit, but—”

“You are planning to go against, potentially even destroy, everything you have fought for, that we have fought for.”

Rip hung his head and ran a hand tiredly through his hair. “I know. I know, but this may be the only way to make things right and I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t at least try.”

“And will you be able to live with the consequences if you succeed?” asked Gideon.

Straightening up, Rip met her holographic eyes unflinchingly. “If I have to. If it means Savage pays for all he has done and Miranda and Jonas are alive once more. Don’t you understand, Gideon? I can bring them back.” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “I can bring them back.” 

The hope kindling in his heart felt like a spark of light after endless darkness, like he was finally able to breath again. It was a new, fragile hope, one he was afraid would slip away from him if he held it too tightly, but it was hope.

Gideon’s tone grew softer but her words were no less firm. “If the Time Masters were to find out—”

“Damn the Time Masters!” Rip snapped. “If it were up to them, I would never have had Miranda or Jonas in the first place. I am not letting them get in the way of taking down Savage and saving my family.”

“You will be risking yourself as well as the timeline.”

“My life doesn’t matter. Miranda and Jonas are the only ones who matter.”

“Your life does matter,” Gideon countered angrily. “It matters to me.”

Rip smiled sadly. The sentiment was much appreciated but he had made his decision and he wasn’t backing down. “I’m sorry, Gideon, but I have to do this.”

The A.I., unfortunately, was proving as stubborn as he was. “Your proposal is sill inadvisable. There are too many unknown factors. Are you not curious as to why Savage targeted you in the first place?”

Rip threw his hands into the air. “I don’t care. All I care about is making him pay for what he did!” He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Jonas is... was only nine years old and one of the last things he saw before... before he died was his mother being murdered. He’s my son. I can’t let that be his fate, not when I have the ability to change things, and if that means changing the timeline, then so be it.”

The smooth, blue features of Gideon’s avatar had never been particularly expressive and it was usually easier to gauge her mood by her voice but Rip thought he could detect uncertainty in the narrowing of her eyes.

“I understand if you don’t want to do this,” he said.

He did understand. Gideon, and in some ways Rip too, had been programmed to protect the integrity of the timeline at all costs. The timeline was virtually sacred to them and what Rip was proposing could potentially eviscerate four thousand years of it. Gideon wasn’t like most A.I.’s. She had gone beyond her programming before, even gone against the Time Masters by hiding the existence of Miranda and Jonas, but could she go against what was at her very heart?

“And I won’t force you to. If I have to...” The very idea left a queasiness in Rip’s stomach but he said it anyway. “If I have to, I can shut you down and go ahead on my own.”

“You could,” Gideon agreed, quietly.

“I could,” Rip repeated in the same sad tone; then he shook his head. “But I don’t want to.” He took a step closer, eyes glistening earnestly. “Gideon, you are my dearest friend. You have been by my side throughout countless struggles and misadventures, saved my life more times than I’d like to admit. You even succeeded in saving me from myself. Without you, I wouldn’t have survived the past few days, and without you, I doubt I will survive what is to come.”

The expression on the avatar’s face was hard to read, brow drawn low in an odd mixture of fondness and sorrow.

Rip gazed at her pleadingly. “I’ve already lost so much. Don’t let me lose you too.”

Silence reigned over the bridge, Rip holding his breath as Gideon’s avatar hovered motionlessly above the console; then finally, after what felt like an eternity, the A.I. said, “It will not be easy and there is no telling what may happen even if we do succeed.”

At the word 'we', air rushed from Rip’s lungs and the spark of hope in his chest grew a little brighter. “Does that mean you’re with me?”

There was no uncertainty left in Gideon’s voice when she replied. “Always.”

Rip’s lips twisted into a crooked smile.

“Right then,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Egypt.”

“Course set, Captain."

Rip got back in the pilot’s chair and swung it around to face the forward window.

Through the window’s glass, the green energies of the temporal zone shimmered and rippled. Every now and again there would be a bright flash of yellow, bolts of lightning against raging storm clouds.

Jonas had always been fascinated by the swirling eddies. When he was a baby, it was one of the few things that would calm him down when he was fussy. Miranda would stand beside the window with Jonas in her arms and he would stare out, mesmerized. Sometimes he would reach out a tiny fist as if trying to capture the energy in his fingerstips.

The image of them, the iridescent light reflecting off their features, was so clear in Rip's mind, he could almost believe they were right there beside him.

“Captain?” said Gideon, bringing him back to reality.

Shaking off the memory, Rip glanced down at the control panel and saw the engines were primed and ready to go. 

His jaw tightened with grim determination. “Let’s do this.”

He was going to see them again. No matter how long it took, no matter what he had to face or how far he had to go, he was going to see his family again.

Gripping the thruster, he pushed the lever forward and the Waverider jumped into the time stream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who left comments and kudos!


End file.
